


What's in a Kiss?

by orphan_account



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Reconciliation, Smithers visits Moe after the events of s22e11, it gets awkward, then it gets gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Waylon Smithers has been pining after the same man and trying to work his way into his heart for what's felt like his entire life. A certain gargoyle bartender, however, managed to throw that course for a loop when he swept Smithers off his feet, despite the fact that Smithers managed to ruin his business partner's chances at a seat on the city council, or any hopes Moe had of keeping their new rendition of the bar open. That sudden wrench in the works has been on Smithers' mind for the past six days, and in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the emotional turmoil, he finds himself back at the place where the whole situation began.





	What's in a Kiss?

“Waylon?”

The word violated the loud silence of muffled background noise television with nonsense streaming through the old speakers and the occasional shrill siren wailing in the distance- of the car engines that would grumble by outside the grimy windows of the bar and the unnerving scuttling of something underneath a stool that would never pass proper code. 

Yes, the place was a dump. But the odd, sad tranquility of it all, the atmosphere of a place where you could just get lost in everything even without alcohol, was undeniable to even the more discerning patron. Not many usually wandered in through the front door of ‘Moe’s Tavern’, but one had, that night. He wasn't there for the atmosphere, though.

A gravelly throat cleared, jerking the dimly lit scene out of its pocket in time again, and leaving a bad taste in the mouth of the solitary drinker that had made the snap decision to come back so soon and find a familiar seat at that bar. The previously mentioned discerning patron tried to hold his gaze on the depths of his glass, to sink back into the sounds of nightlife and oblivion. To delay the inevitable. But two interruptions can really derail a thought process. The dark liquor in his glass swirled as the hand clasped around it shifted, and a resigned sigh escaped its owner.

Oblivion could wait. Moe Szyslak, however, could not.

“Look, uh.. W-” The bartender caught himself, and over the rim of his glasses the addressed party watched Moe frown and wipe his hands on his apron, then turn away slightly before continuing. “Mister Smithers, I just wanted to, since you’re here, say that I really appreciate all of your help in the most recent failed rendition of ‘Moe’s’.”

Before Smithers could raise an eyebrow, Moe turned back and threw up his hands, shaking his head.

“W-wait a minute! Wait a minute, no that ain't the right way ‘a sayin’ it. God I've got the jitters or somethin’, huh? Guess it's been a while.” Moe wiped his brow with an old rag, which made Smithers struggle not to wince in distaste. How old was that thing? And why didn't he hang on to some of the new bar rags that Smithers had ordered for-

His train of thought recentered on Moe as he waved a hand apologetically and continued, “What I actually means is, even though it didn't last, like most ‘a the things I try out with this place, I wanted ta thank you for, everything.” Moe’s lips curled up in a cautious, guarded attempt at a welcoming grin. Smithers smothered a lump in his throat with a gulp of liquor and focused his attention on Moe’s hands instead of his face. They twisted the bar rag mindlessly.

“Also it's just, nice ta see ya. Heh, was kinda wonderin when you'd come back an’ visit ol’ Moe.”

Smithers looked up from his scotch and was greeted by a familiar crooked grin. He chuckled softly and nodded.

“Yes, it's, nice to see you too, Szyslak. I am sorry that I haven't been over recently.” An indifferent shrug was all he could think to offer as a response besides, “Catching up on work has been, time-consuming.” A pretty pathetic excuse. Plus, the stacks of files forming in the back seat of his car begged to differ that that was how he had been spending his time.

Moe nodded knowingly, and as Smithers took a sip from his glass he caught Moe’s hands fidgeting again, this time with an apron strap in his peripheral. Seemed he wasn't the only one a little on edge after the events that had transpired 6 days earlier. Smithers shook his head a little. _Not that he’s been thinking about it much, probably. Don't project your own worries, Waylon._ He rolled his eyes to himself. _The only reason he’s nervous is because you showed up unannounced after 6 days of no contact, and he probably thinks you’re going to tear into him for the long con he pulled about pretending to be gay. More so than just outing him in front of the whole gay community._

He couldn't hold that against Moe. He really couldn't. Smithers had held audience to the tavern owner’s blunders before, and he could recognize desperate grasps at happiness and fulfillment all too well. Saying he was gay was part of yet another ploy to hold on to the ultimate success for Moe: to be accepted, appreciated, and, in a way, loved.

Smithers could perfectly understand a life goal of seeking love and appreciation. But his long haul path to that had been, well, thrown for a loop when a certain bold bartender had made Smithers suddenly question everything about both his and his ex-partner’s feelings.

Smithers had been struggling to make it through the work days following without thinking about it, and his gut was still knotted and uneasy from mulling over the rollercoaster of emotions that he’d had thrust upon him so unceremoniously on the steps of town hall that afternoon. He’d thought maybe showing up unannounced at the old tavern and talking it over would provide some small ounce of closure to what that even was, but of course Smithers had just lost his courage the moment he’d stepped through the dimly lit doorway. 

So what better way to talk through conflicting emotions from being kissed by your business partner than refusing to talk about them and instead trying to lose yourself in a glass of scotch and the ambience of an empty bar? Fantastic job, Waylon.

The jukebox kicked to life quietly after having been stalled for the past 5 minutes, and it began to play a hushed version of some familiar slow song. Smithers’ mind was on other matters, however, though he found his foot subconsciously tapping to the beat. He glanced up at Moe trying to busy himself, since Smithers was the only patron that night and was currently struggling to work up the nerve to hold any conversation at all. Slow evenings were very slow compared to nights at ‘Mo’s’.

The conflicted patron took a drink from his glass and internally kicked himself for not sorting his personal issues and turmoils out before stumbling into ‘Moe’s’, with no clearer idea of what had happened between himself and the bartender than when he'd stumbled to his car and driven home in a daze after single-handedly destroying Moe’s city council campaign on that fateful afternoon. As if reading his tortured mind, Moe's voice came again, a little more like his normal “half comforting half too tired to care" tone, which was comforting in a way. Smithers cautiously raised his eyes to watch the barkeep working his old rag over the surface of the back counter.

“Listen. Y’know, if you're still sore over the whole, ‘lying about bein gay’ deal, I get that. I really do.” Moe's tone turned sour and he shook his head. “It was.. stupid. Just real stupid of me. And you ain't gotta pretend ta be okay with me havin lied about that kinda thing. And I don’t want you to, alright?” Moe’s words hit a sudden desperate note and Smithers sat up slightly. Moe seemed just as surprised at the serious turn, and when he noticed Smithers’ concerned stare, he sighed and his shoulders shrugged tiredly.

“I just don't wantcha to be okay with me makin’ a fool ‘a myself and takin’ advantage ‘a everyone’s trust. You're easily one ‘a the best people I've worked on this place with, and havin’ good people excuse the crap I pull is..” Moe crossed his arms and leaned against the back shelves with a pained expression. “It feels like I'm still just trickin’ ‘em into likin’ me. And I'm sick of my own stunts just as much as everyone else is by now.”

Smithers’ grip loosened around his glass. He almost wanted to reach across the counter and place a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. But he stayed put.

“Moe?”

The bartender nearly jumped in surprise at the soft response, and Smithers noticed how the tension had built in Moe’s shoulders. It was surprising to see him so worked up over this. Had guilt been the only thing plaguing his mind to get him so anxious? God, how Smithers wished he could read those worried features better.

Moe’s hands had found a glass to feverishly wipe, even though Smithers was fairly certain that he had already seen that same glass wiped clean minutes ago. But the look on the bartender’s tired face sent both a pain and a flutter through the patron’s chest simultaneously. He was not nearly as good at covering his emotions, and the sheer anxiety written across his face, the fear of a man who had lost so much before and desperately wanted not to lose any more, had the force required to soften Smithers’ voice and put a warm smile on his face.

“Listen, Moe. I forgive you. I already had the moment you admitted everything at the campaign rally.” Moe’s jaw dropped a little at that, and he gave Smithers a confused look.

For a moment, the droning music and distant traffic sounds blended in the stuffy yet comfortingly warm air, and gave the two a taste of that quiet tranquility that every so often graced the old tavern. Smithers found himself in unblinking eye contact with the man in front of him and he almost regretted that he would have to keep talking in a few milliseconds, to break the odd serenity, but as the traffic seemed to clear and the jukebox skipped, Smithers blinked a few times, and the moment had passed.

The strange tightness in his chest, however, refused to. Smithers hastily pushed it to the back of his mind and clasped his hands together, continuing.

“And to put your fears to rest, this forgiveness isn't stemming from some, false pity I’ve been tricked into. This is me realizing why you did what you did, and recognizing that you genuinely feel remorse for your actions.” Smithers leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, and looked up at Moe meaningfully. “I think I understand your motive better than you realize.” He held a hand out expectantly and smiled. “So, I hope you and I can step past that.. ordeal?”

Moe’s relief was apparent as he grinned and let his shoulders relax to a familiar slope.

“Yeah. Of course. Thank ya for understandin’, Waylon.” Moe paused halfway to the handshake, looking uncertain. “Uh, do ya think we could also, maybe, be back on a first name basis too? Feels…” He shrugged awkwardly. “Formal?”

Smithers nodded happily. It did feel unnecessarily formal to be called ‘Smithers’ by someone who he’d come to know so well that wasn't a work associate, even though he _had_ been a business partner. Moe chuckled and took Smithers’ hand in a firm shake, to the man’s contentment. He felt himself already losing some built up tension, and once their handshake broke, he shifted his weight and leaned into his crossed arms on the polished wood of the counter. He took a drink and watched as Moe tightened up his apron straps in preparation for his usual pre-closing routine, which mostly involved shooing rats away with an old broom and pouring water in the liquor bottles. Smithers tilted his head, feeling brave or distracted enough to make more light conversation.

“So. Does it feel odd to go back to the same old routine after all the changes we made with the other ‘Mo’s’?” Moe chuckled and popped a wine cork, eyeing the bottle for a second before taking a sip. He gagged, took another sip, then retrieved a pitcher of tap water from under the bar.

“Nah, I'm used ta always comin’ back to the original ‘Moe’s’ after all the different kindsa bars I try out. Seems bleak to anyone else, but I'm too fond of the dump to be disappointed when it comes back to the same old same old.” The barkeep smiled fondly as he polished a particularly grubby corner of the back mirror. “Gotta say that the one you and I built up was one a’ the best, though!” Moe pulled Smithers’ glass up to himself and refilled it for him, then slid it back over. “Thanks again for all the help in that particular endeavor. Couldn't ‘ave done it without you.” Smithers took the glass and laughed good-naturedly. He took a sip and noted that he'd gotten one of the few bottles not tampered with. Class act, Szyslak.

“Well, I would say you're welcome, for the work on the bar, but that feels a bit pretentious. So, thank _you_ , for working with me on it.” Smithers sighed, casting a bittersweet look around. The wallpaper comically peeled in one spot on the wall as he looked it over. “It was quite the project, huh? Shame it didn't stick, but it was nice while it lasted.” Moe nodded and barked out a harsh laugh, glancing around as well, and Smithers had to make himself look away from the bartender’s face for a moment. Such.. genuine care in a man’s expression was a rare sight. ‘Mo’s’ had been quite the improvement, in his own opinion, but the way Moe had taken to cleaning up the old model, and his dedication to it? Smithers felt his heart skip a beat. It was, almost admirable. A real ‘self-made man’, as Mr. Burns would most likely describe him. 

His elated mood and his stomach abruptly plummeted as he thought of his boss, and his smile faded. God, Mr. Burns. He'd already tucked him into bed about an hour earlier, and though the old man hadn't suspected that anything was out of the ordinary, the routine had felt unsure for the first time in a while. Ever since town hall it had been increasingly difficult for Smithers to uphold his usual standards in his work and caretaking. One can't exactly be on their best game with the thought that maybe the man they'd been in love with for years was no longer the one that held the most emotional weight in their heart. That thought had taken a toll on Smithers, and he rubbed his temples and took a half-hearted swig. He felt very tired all of a sudden. 

The call to reality must have shown on his face, because Moe set down a vodka bottle that was now half filled with tap water. When Smithers sighed softly into his glass, Moe frowned and tilted his head like some confused puppy, before reaching for Smithers’ drink and offering a sympathetic grin.

“Here, uh, lemme getcha somethin’ stronger. Ya seem like you've had a rough week or somethin. I can tell these kindsa things at this point.” He winked. Good god Smithers really did not need that face winking charmingly at him in a moment like this. Moe poured the scotch into another glass and took his own sip from it, then pulled out a fresh vodka bottle and poured a few shots. He slid them across the counter, and Smithers nodded gratefully before throwing one back. His eyes watered slightly and he felt the drink burn as it travelled down his throat. It had been a while since he'd had a drink like that, but he could use some liquid courage. 

“‘Preciate it,” he coughed. Moe shrugged one shoulder indifferently, but he had a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he wiped out Smithers’ glass.

“Eh, ‘s the least I can do to thank my business partner after the, ‘ordeal’.” Moe made air quotation marks with his fingers and laughed again before twirling the mug in his hand and setting it back under the counter. Smithers blinked, eyes lingering on the face of a relaxed bartender in his element, then allowed himself a chuckle as well.

“Thank you, Moe.” With a glance out the window as the headlights of a passing car flashed through, Smithers remembered that in his haste he’d driven to ‘Moe’s’ with no initial plan to be drinking, and now that he had been, no designated driver. Moe glanced over at him as he pulled his car keys from his jacket pocket and studied them, then tucked them into his back pants pocket resignedly. “Guess I'll either be walking or taking a cab tonight.” Moe nodded. There was a small clattering as he poured out the leftover scotch and wiped down the glass.

“Yeah, we don't wantcha gettin into any trouble tonight. Assuming ya drove here, you can pick up your car in the mornin’.” A quick lapse in the conversation. That old hunk of junk jukebox was rather fond of that same tune. Moe looked conflicted, and he tugged at his bowtie briefly before clearing off the counter and looking to Smithers again. 

“You really do seem like somethin’s botherin ya. And it's not my previous blunders, apparently, which I guess I’m grateful for.” Moe smirked and leaned forward to rest his own elbows on the bar, hands clasped together and fidgeting with each other, but the light conversation had eased most of the tension in his body. Smithers turned in his seat to meet Moe’s eyes. The bartender looked sympathetic and expectant, open and patient. 

“So uh, I know before we were business partners and junk you'd come in every now and then, and the occasional visits weren't bad. Started ta like ya comin’ around every so often.” Moe’s eyes darted about quickly and he cleared his throat, to which Smithers raised his eyebrows slightly. The barkeep waved a hand and went on.

“Anyways, ya never got the whole, ‘bartender listens to ya grievances’ schtick. But,” He raised his hands and shrugged, “No time like the present for your first ‘Moe Szyslak Sympathy Experience’!” Moe shook his outstretched hands jokingly. Smithers chuckled lightly, and a smug grin stretched across Moe’s face. He leaned back down and rested his arms onto the polished counter, inclining his head somewhat until he stood as the pinnacle of a bartender listening to a patron recount their hardships.

“So, what’sa mattah, Waylon?”

Smithers hesitated for a moment, and his palms felt suddenly damper. But Moe’s calm smile helped push the lump in his throat down. Another car passed outside the bar, thumping with the beat of something more modern than what droned out of the jukebox. Smithers sighed heavily and sat back on the stool, taking the second shot before setting the glass down gently. He managed a sad smile, but his chest felt tight and nervous as he spoke.

“If I'm being entirely honest, I've been having some… work troubles.” He bit the inside of his cheek, reluctant to go too much into it. _This isn't why you're here. Why couldn't you have just gotten it over with the moment you walked through that door?_ Despite his inner remarks to himself, he went on. 

“Mr. Burns is... well, he has a lot on his plate, which means so do I.” Smithers rested his head in one hand. The vodka still burned in his throat, but the warm feeling in his core eased some of the tightness in his chest. He noticed Moe watching him carefully, but when he looked up the bar had a sudden new spot that required Moe’s attention. Smithers studied him as the rag worked over nothing in particular. Moe glanced back up and gave an ‘I'm still listening’ gesture, and Smithers simply shrugged in response, though the pressure and flutters in his ribcage had made a sudden reappearance. Another swallow of liquor to ease the nerves. Another loop of the same old song that Smithers now found himself tapping his foot to.

“It's been a larger than average workload due to some recent drops in the stock prices leaving me with a decreased budget to balance. In addition to that a dozen or so employee complaints and grievances have come in over the past two weeks because of the cutbacks. Usually it wouldn't be much of a problem, considering the amount of work I have on a normal basis, but this time, I just..” He paused. 

How to explain that whatever happened at town hall had been on his mind constantly, and that it felt almost torturous to be away from the bar and forced back into the daily drudgery like nothing even happened? 

_Don’t say anything that’ll ruin this, Waylon._

Smithers cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. Nervous tic, he supposed. He'd been doing that the whole day. _Just.. don’t mention it._ That solution sent a pang through his heart for some obscure reason that either his tired mind or the alcohol in his system seemed determined to keep him from comprehending. 

“Well, I've been finding it hard to focus recently, which, combined with all the filing and paperwork I've been assigned,” Smithers scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes, “ _along_ with everything else I have to do on a daily basis for Mr. Burns-” He suddenly interrupted himself. “Not that I mind! I-” He bit back a flood of backpedaling. Slowly, he folded his hands and let out a breath. “I don't mind it usually, but frankly it's just been.. a lot.”

Smithers’ soft grey eyes shot up to search Moe’s face for a reaction, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. In all the previous times he’d visited the dingy bar seeking solace from his feelings or his stress, Smithers had never received such an honest, engaged look from the surly bartender. It caught him off-guard to lock eyes with Moe and see him craning forward in interest, his bar rag clutched in one hand and his chin being supported by the other. After a beat, Smithers’ enraptured audience smiled softly. Well, the closest that Moe could get to a soft smile, as far as Smithers could tell.

“Wow. Well uh, I'm sure sorry to hear you’ve been havin’ a tough time of it since.. you left. That uh, that sure don’t sound like a warm welcome back after ‘Mo’s’.” Moe frowned and had to think for a second. “Okay, hold on- the names are the same but I'm talkin ‘bout the.. gay one.” He chuckled hesitantly, but Smithers abruptly let out a full laugh, to Moe’s apparent surprise. The drinks that he’d had were definitely helping lighten the mood, but honestly, Smithers couldn't help but feel tickled. His laughs came out nasally and in hiccupy bursts, and he had to grip the counter for support as he erupted into giggles. The warmth in his chest rose, and he felt the tension from when he first arrived in the bar that night leaving him. God it felt nice to just drunkenly laugh at something stupid and not have every waking moment filled with emotional turmoil.

“Hehah- yeah, the gay one. And I don't think any other workplace could offer as warm a welcome as that for me, if you know what I mean.” Smithers burst into a fresh fit of hilarity and wiped a tear from his eyes, then saw Moe watching him, wide-eyed and confused. But Smithers’ laughter was contagious as it rang through the still tavern air. Moe’s smile returned as he chuckled, shoulders shaking as his eyes scrunched up with each laugh. Soon both of them were throwing their heads back with raucous laughter, and Smithers’ cheeks began to ache from smiling so wide.

The sounds of their amusement filled the dimly lit bar, and Smithers wished he could stay in that moment for as long as it took for him not to have to talk about it. About what happened. About what he felt. He wanted a life in this warm, happy instance.

The tune looped for the last time in the jukebox. La Vie en Rose. That was the song.

As soon as he could see through squinted eyes and tears, Waylon beamed up at Moe, sinking further onto the counter and watching his friend wheezing over the bar and grasping at it to stay upright. The barkeep was practically howling like a shot wolf, but Smithers couldn't help but grin and listen to the loud, harsh laughter and feel something stirring in his chest. The jukebox made a grating sound, and the music finally jumped to a new track. 

Slow, peaceful strings muted by the poor quality of the jukebox speakers filled the room, and Smithers leaned into his hands as Moe’s cackling died down. His mind swam with thoughts of the new ‘Mo’s’, of how Mr. Burns had offered some praise for him for once in probably 4 months. How he’d gotten to know and maybe even understand the man currently bent over the bar next to him wheezing with laughter, his wide, crooked yet charming smile lit by the tacky “Beer Is The Answer” sign hung up behind the bar. How he had that moment of immense guilt for blowing everything for his new partner’s campaign.

The reminder of that twisted his stomach for only a second before Smithers’ cheeks flushed at the memory of being swept off his feet, of the fleeting feeling of warmth and contact, the dizzying rush he was left with standing on that stairway. Of how he could make that happen all over again if he moved a foot to his right and just _took his chance_ -

Smithers shook himself and tightened his grip on one of the empty shot glasses as the warmth rose to his face, and he caught himself staring as Moe straightened up and wiped away a tear with the bar rag. Smithers grimaced at that, but the glow in his and Moe’s cheeks- from both alcohol and a straight minute of nothing but comfortable, joyous laughter- felt like it was heating the entire room. It was stuffy and nearly suffocating, but in a way that made Smithers never want to leave that creaky barstool again. And it didn't help that the old air conditioner was probably broken again. 

Smithers was taken aback for a moment by how well he had familiarized himself with the old dive, enough to even remember there was an air conditioner. It pulled him from his moment of fantasizing and gawking enough to make him aware of the burning at the back of his mind. The reason why he was there. He tore his gaze from Moe and swallowed the hints of panic threatening to rise in his gut.

_Now or never, Waylon._

Moe, having composed himself, looked to Smithers with a warm grin, but his friend looked far away and dazed. The ghost of a regretful, conflicted expression- along with a tinge of color in his cheeks lingering there- was twisting Smithers’ face. His hands worried at themselves and surface of the bar as the events of the past weeks ran through his mind over and over.

“Heh… Waylon? You alright there?” Moe’s inquiring tone pulled Smithers from his thoughts. He pulled himself together enough to meet Moe’s eyes with a tired, afflicted look, and could've sworn that Moe’s cheeks reddened in response to the sudden intensity. The bartender’s voice suddenly rose half an octave. “Y- uh, you know we can uh,” Moe coughed and ran his thin fingers through his wiry gray hair, his eyes darting away from Smithers and back. “We can talk about it if there's more stuff troublin ya?” The barkeep blinked nervously before dragging his gaze back to Smithers. A small, encouraging smile sent Smithers’ heart spinning and made his throat tighten. He swallowed forcefully, letting out a shaky breath. 

_You know you didn't drive down here and walk through that familiar door to talk about a rough couple days at work. You know what's been running through your head for days. You know why you're actually here. You know what you’ve both been dancing around this whole conversation._

After a nerve-wracking beat, Smithers folded his hands together on the smooth, clean surface of the bar and forced himself to lock eyes with Moe.

Moe Szyslak, the selfish, deceitful, lonely, good-hearted bartender staring sheepishly back at him. The good man that always made the same mistakes just to try and hang on to something for once. The one haunting his memories and his heart. The only one that Waylon Smithers could have ever chosen over the man he’d dedicated his life to years ago.

“Moe.” Busy fingers. Fidgety eyes. Soft music. Just them in that cozy, sad, quiet bar, in space and time. Together in that familiar oblivion. 

Nowhere to run from it now, Waylon.

“You've been a constant source of support in my life, even if you weren't quite aware of it. Since before I even knew you very well I could count on this place as a sanctuary at the end of a rough day at work. A long hard day of feeling underappreciated and stretched thin.” Smithers offered up a grateful smile. “This was a haven even when it wasn't specifically made to be so for men like me. I couldn't have been happier to work on it with you when we were business partners. And.. I wanted to apologize again for ending your city council campaign. And for waiting to come back to talk to you.”

Moe chuckled uneasily, wringing his hands together. “Well, I'm, glad ya saw it as somethin’ nice in your life. Always did feel guilty for never really makin’ an attempt to connect before ya pitched ‘Mo’s’, but..” He rubbed at the back of his neck, and a desperate scan over the bar led him to snatch up the shot glasses and get to cleaning them. “Also.. don't feel bad about the campaign. It was a sham, and you did the right thing, and I was a sham, and I wasn't thinkin when I-" 

Moe set the glasses down with a loud clack after drying them off, and looked genuinely distressed to have nothing to do except stand there. So he stood, nearly shaking with nerves, at a loss for words.Smithers saw pure anxiety swimming in Moe’s eyes, in his feverish movements. He looked so… vulnerable. And it broke his heart to see him that way, helpless against what Smithers had to say.

But something else that Smithers recognized in his face swept away the rest of his inhibitions. A hint of expectation in his wide, scared eyes. The expectation of a man begging for someone else to take the first step. That moment on the steps was playing in both of their heads, and Moe was pleading for Smithers to be the one to just _do something._

Regardless of whether or not alcohol had already provided him more courage, seeing that look in Moe’s eyes made Smithers bold. He’d only felt this way once before. This time was hardly an impending doomsday, but it didn't matter.

Before Moe could say another word, Smithers found himself rising from his seat. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the muffled love song droning on from the jukebox. The bartender’s eyes widened and the color rose in his cheeks. Time moved in slow motion as Smithers took Moe’s hands in his own. They were trembling and thin, not unlike the hands that Smithers had longed to hold for so much of his life. But instead of being soft and well-kept, almost unused, the hands he held were worn. Scars tattooed the knuckles and they were warm and alive. And the person attached to them simply stood, gawking at the sudden movement and touch. But he didn't pull away.

Not even when Smithers opened his mouth to say,

“I'm so sorry it took me this long but I just- I couldn't stop thinking about how much I loved it.”

And it was Smithers’ turn to be shocked when Moe nearly leapt up onto the counter and threw his arms over his friend’s shoulders, crashing into him with a kiss.

Smithers couldn't breathe as his eyelids fluttered closed, and as he was held there by the same thin yet strong arms that had dipped him into a kiss like this 6 days ago. The pounding in his chest felt deafening as his mind swam with a thousand different thoughts at once. His hands moved sluggishly, like he was swimming through the air, and gently, nervously smoothed over Moe’s shoulder blades. The tremors in Moe’s hands stilled as they wrapped tighter around Smithers. The contact was so harsh, yet so soft, and Smithers could barely believe he was still conscious with how fast his heart was beating and how lightheaded he felt all of a sudden. But there was no way he was fainting and giving up this precious moment. Just them, locked together, with Moe sitting up on the counter and Smithers bent over it to meet him in the middle.

He never wanted it to end.

The song faded out, and the jukebox slowly removed the track. Stillness and quiet enveloped the bar, and slowly, Moe drew away from Smithers.

“U-um, was that.. I..” Moe’s face was flushed heavily, and he looked like he was barely breathing. A soft laugh escaped Smithers as he blinked at the barkeep, feeling the intense warmth in his own face. They both probably looked like they were on the verge of passing out. Smithers stood, leaning on the bar slightly for support, and gulped before breaking the silence.

“That was.. good, I think.” The relief on Moe’s face was evident by his dumb grin, and Smithers couldn't help himself and laughed again. Everything felt lighter, and he felt dazzled looking into Moe’s eyes and seeing pure glee where anxiety had been earlier.

“...I think you made me fall love with you on those steps, Moe. That's.. why I really came.” 

Moe choked for a moment, blushing harder, then cleared his throat roughly. His voice came out a tad croaky.

“I, uh.. guess I figured as much. Didn't do too good a job myself at getting around to talkin’ about it but..” He straightened his bowtie and kept his eyes downcast. “I don't know what I meant by that first kiss. I may not ever really know, because it was mostly me bein’ impulsive as usual. But, what I do know, is what I meant by the one just now.” Moe scuffed his feet on the floor and clasped his hands together nervously. “And I- I think what I meant is, I might’ve made myself fall in love with ya that afternoon too And just might’ve been what’s gotten me outta bed these last 6 days.”

Moe met Smithers’ stunned silence with a fond gaze and a sheepish smile. “Just, waitin’ for ya here. Gave me somethin’ that I don't remember havin’ after every failure with this place. Somethin’ to, look forward to I guess.”

Smithers blinked in shock, and he felt a wetness on his cheek as a tear rolled down his face. Soon enough his chest began to ache and he was crying, but he didn't care to think of whether it was his tired drunkenness or that look that Moe was giving him. He just wanted to kiss that old bartender again. Moe chuckled gently, and he hesitated before reaching forward to swipe away a tear from Smithers’ cheek.

“Ah, geez, Waylon. Ya don't gotta put on the waterworks like that!” Smithers tried to mumble an apology, but Moe just shook his head and laughed. “You're drunk, pal. After a scotch and, what, two shots of vodka? No way you're gonna be able to walk home like this.” Smithers looked up at a clock hanging over the bar, and was stunned to see the time read 2:00 am. He hadn't realized how long they'd talked together. Dodging the subject like two nervous wrecks. Smithers nodded and wiped the tears from his face, his vision swimming slightly. He really was feeling the effects of those drinks.

“I.. hope you don't think all of that was just, me being drunk, Moe.” The bartender looked up from tucking away the vodka bottle, and he shook his head knowingly. He stood up and untied the straps on his apron, hanging it up and dusting it off before stepping out from behind the bar.

“Nah. Heh, I can distinguish between genuine emotion and drunk ramblings by now. Or at least, I hope I can, or this time it'd be a real loss.” Moe laughed to himself as he pulled on his coat. “No, Waylon, I think..” He smiled at Smithers. “I think you said what you really feel, and I'm grateful that one of us isn't too big a coward ta admit what this turned out ta be.” Smithers leaned back on the counter and returned the smile, warmth swelling in his chest.

“What do you think that it turned out to be?” Moe stopped as he pulled out his car keys, and he looked thoughtful for a few seconds before answering.

“Somethin’... good. For both of us.”

Smithers nodded, brushing away a stray tear and pulling his jacket around himself tighter.

“I think so too, Moe.”

Smithers pulled out his wallet and flipped through the bills in it, but Moe’s hand came out of nowhere and smacked his own.

“It's on the house ya big sap. Don't worry about it.” Smithers chuckled and closed the wallet.

“If you say so. I would think I'd taught you that giving out free drinks to guys wasn't a sound business practice when we both worked here, but-" He shrugged, grinning, and Moe elbowed him in the ribs jokingly.

“Yeah yeah, shut up and let's get outta here.” The barkeep opened the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The air was cool on Smithers’ face as he walked out to join him, and he began scanning the passing traffic for a cab. There was a jingling of keys behind him, and then a soft touch on his elbow. Moe jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a beat up old car parked in the side lot next to the bar, next to Smithers’. “C’mon, it's late an’ I'm exhausted, so if we're gonna both get home in one piece we'd better go now.”

“I was just going to catch a ca-" Moe cut him off.

“No, you're not gonna get a ride home from some sleazy lowlife stranger.” He tugged Smithers by the arm over to the car and unlocked it. He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “You're gonna get a ride from a sleazy lowlife that you actually know!”

Smithers smiled at that, and as he hopped into the passenger seat the car grumbled to life. The gravelly engine noises sounded all too coincidentally like its owner, and Smithers’ smile widened. Moe looked over at him and tilted his head.

“Hey, what's with the big smile?” Moe was hardly one to talk at the moment, though, with a wide grin of his own and the traces of blush still left on his cheeks. Smithers sighed and leaned against the window as they backed out of the lot and drove off.

“Nothing. Just... “ He glanced over at Moe. “Thanks for the ride.” His friend shrugged off the gratitude and turned down the way to Smithers’ apartment after a directing point.

“It's no problem, really. I should be thanking you for coming to the bar. I think we needed that.” The lights of passing headlights and street signs backlit Moe’s smiling face as the two rode along quietly. Smithers nodded sleepily, shifting his position propped up against the cold glass of the window.

“I'm glad I worked up the nerve to finally show up, honestly. Not that I kept it once I walked in, but it worked out in the end I suppose.” Moe scoffed and turned into the lot below Smithers’ apartment building. Almost all of the rooms had their lights out.

“You _suppose?_ Well, how’s this for you _suppose_?” Smithers looked up from unbuckling his seatbelt just in time to see Moe lean over the middle compartment and plant a kiss on his cheek. He sat stunned in the car for a second, his heart doing flips in his chest, then beamed at Moe.

“Not bad, but, we can do better.” Moe’s confident smirk faltered, but when Smithers wrapped one hand around his bowtie and pulled him in for a kiss, Smithers felt him melt under his touch. They stayed there, holding each other gently, for another minute or so until Smithers smiled into the kiss and pulled away. His heart ached to leave that kind face for even a second, much less for a whole day. So as Moe looked away bashfully and shooed him out of the car, Smithers stepped out and looked back over his shoulder.

“Is it alright if I stop by tomorrow night? I'd like to.. talk some more.” Moe waved a hand dismissively, but his face was still glowing with embarrassment.

“Sure, sure. Just, stop makin’ it sound so high school! Jesus, Waylon!” Despite his gruff tone, Moe was laughing into the steering wheel, and Smithers shoved his hands in his pockets happily. He didn't have the energy to think that he'd need to be in to work the next day as usual, to still work through how to transition from dedication to Mr. Burns his whole life to suddenly having someone who needed him maybe even more.

But as he shut the car door, waved goodbye to Moe, and watched him drive off until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Smithers felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. And suddenly, nothing really mattered that much to him besides the promise of seeing that beautiful hideous troll of a bartender again soon.


End file.
